


A Bridge Between the Joy

by Rosage



Series: A Handprint on My Heart [5]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/F, Hubert/Ferdinand ending referenced vaguely for context, Minor Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Just because Constance is traveling with Hapi does not mean she has given up on restoring House Nuvelle. Surely her journey will only reinforce her ambitions.As the sun sets, Constance glimpses a new path.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Constance von Nuvelle, Hapi/Constance von Nuvelle
Series: A Handprint on My Heart [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984274
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	A Bridge Between the Joy

When they set up camp, Hapi takes care of their mounts, foisting cooking duty on Constance. She sits to sort piles of berries and mushrooms more mysterious than any spell components. Yet, she must not lose spirit. She has chased off the sun another day, and fireflies twinkle in the forest’s clearing as if the stars have fallen to greet her. She hums as she lights the fire with her bare finger.

Soon enough, mushrooms, wild onions, and herbs simmer together, looking nothing like the stew from the last tavern. The savory aroma makes her miss Mercedes’ meat pies. Better yet, her blackberry pies, just the right blend of sweet, tart, and buttery. And best of all, Mercedes’ voice, telling her and Emile to eat up.

She sticks a blackberry in her mouth. Her lips pucker. Still dreaming of alternatives, she tosses a handful in the pot.

“Please tell me you’re not making berry mushroom stew,” Hapi says.

Constance recoils. Hapi bends to look over her shoulder, seeming more likely to poke the goo with a stick than ingest it.

“Oh, I—ohoh! Behold the birth of a new creation, a Nuvelle original recipe!”

“Is that really gonna taste good?”

“Things that grow together, go together. Is that not the saying?”

“This is the forest, Coco. Moss grows here. And worms.”

“Pray, do not make me think of consuming worms!” Their travels—not to mention past living arrangements—have _somewhat_ inured her to all manner of crawling creatures, but Hapi’s giant, writhing abominations cry through their teeth in her nightmares.

“I’m just giving you a hard time. Right now, I could eat a horse. Don’t tell Joy I said that.”

In less than a year on the road, Constance has seen Hapi eat almost everything, from their own concoctions—Constance’s perhaps a tad too inventive, Hapi’s burnt or missing a step—to whatever snacks they scrounge up. It does not all compete with the regional specialties they sample. But it is easier to wake each day, knowing she and Hapi will embark on some new experience.

The stew takes on too many flavors and too few textures. After they have forced it down, they lie in their bedroll to watch the sky. Hapi uses the fireflies to fill in the constellations the canopy breaks up, creating a celestial story all their own, not on anyone else’s chart.

Even lying in the dirt, Hapi gives Constance so much—and Constance repays her with gloppy food and an odd schedule. Hapi has ridden through rain for her. She’s navigated her horse through the forest and stayed up past her desired bedtime. While traveling in sunlight, she’s ducked into a cave to wait for clouds. And complain as she might about berry mushroom stew, not once has she bemoaned the rest.

Constance pecks her cheek. Hapi turns into the kiss without question, her mouth and tongue still ill-flavored but warm, and Constance rolls onto her side to take Hapi in her arms.

This isn’t new, but it still gives her little jolts of lightning, as any experiment would. Of course, Constance makes bouquets bloom for Hapi, and treats her when they dine. But there have been no letters stating intent of courtship, nor plans drawn up for their nonexistent dowries—no talk of marriage at all, in fact. Only the list in Constance’s notebook of places to visit, from Fhirdiad’s arcane libraries to Derdriu’s world-famous restaurants.

Before long, Hapi drifts to sleep. So as not to disturb her, Constance remains still, but her mind works in absence of a research station. At least some of her plans haven’t changed. She _will_ restore House Nuvelle, after seeing the world and expanding her research. Playing the long game is prudent. Not everyone can use a partner to leapfrog to the position of prime minister.

Constance wags her foot in lieu of pacing. Ferdinand turned a pretty phrase about their mutual dreams, about supporting each other to new heights, until he gained a place in Enbarr without House Aegir. Centuries of legacy, gone. He even offered her the territory to reinstate her own house.

As she reminded him, she doesn’t need a hand up. She will find her own way, as always.

* * *

Within the mountains lie ruins rumored to contain ancient magic. If Constance studies the sigils, she might discover forgotten spells, or even invent new ones. That is, if she is capable of understanding them. She is more likely to waste Hapi’s precious time. Perhaps whatever caused the place to crumble will return to wipe out any who befoul it. The village at the mountain’s base could become another Nuvelle, aflame beneath the scorching sun.

None of it slows Constance’s pace. If anything, it spurs her to reach the village before nightfall. She swoops ahead of Hapi, who trots below, nudging Joy to catch up to Constance’s shadow.

The sun still hounds her when they arrive at the village. Constance dismounts her faithful Luna to walk beside Hapi.

“Just like home,” Hapi murmurs. She takes Constance’s hand. “C’mon, let’s explore.

They don’t get far before someone yells their names, jolting Constance. Enemies, chasing them all the way here?

They turn to find Caspar with his hands cupped around his mouth. Linhardt’s arm sways in the air beside him. The last Constance heard of the couple, they left behind Hevring and Bergliez. The very thing Constance has clawed her way toward, flown over mounds of mangled corpses for, only to end up in the same valley.

“I told him he didn’t need to shout,” Linhardt says. “The bird monsters in the mountains probably heard. Though it did get you guys to walk to us instead of the other way around...”

“Hello to you too, Linny.”

While Constance stands quietly, Hapi catches up with Linhardt, who shares their research plans. Constance peeks up from her boots when she hears Ferdinand’s name. Apparently, he intuited something like this would happen, as he recently entrusted the men with a letter for Constance.

“It definitely wasn’t supposed to come with anything else,” Caspar says.

“Sure,” Linhardt and Hapi both intone.

“I’m sure this is as much as I deserve,” Constance says.

Looking at her awkwardly, as so many do, Caspar hands over the letter. It lacks the Aegir family’s seal, but its careful presentation is signature enough. She clasps it to her chest while she nibbles the inside of her mouth. Given her curt parting words, her friend must be cross.

Hapi touches her shoulder, the only warmth that doesn’t cast judgment upon her. “Let’s go find a tavern or something. You can read that while we chow down.”

Yes. Inside. Before Constance can do more than pocket the letter, a shriek grates through the air.

“Oh, come now, I wasn’t being serious,” Linhardt says.

“I didn’t sigh. You all heard me not sigh, right?” Hapi asks.

A shadow falls over the group, granting Constance a moment of clarity. She points at the monster wheeling overhead. “Whoever summoned it, we must vanquish it before it attacks the village.”

Around them, the townsfolk scramble to take shelter and gather fighters. Constance sprints to remount Luna. As the sun resumes its assault, she quivers at the beast’s giant talons. Yet, it cannot harm her more than the deathly orb beyond it.

She takes to the air. Her only use is to bait the monster away from the village. She loops toward it and away, narrowly evading the beak that snaps at her.

Wings beat behind her. The monster screeches louder as its flapping grows erratic. When she dares look, she finds arrows embedded in the beast’s belly. Below, villagers aim again.

Hapi rides up behind them, dark magic gathering around her hands. Her power draws the monster as much as her kindness draws Constance. It wheels around to dive toward her.

No. Fool’s errand though it may be for Constance to aim, she cannot allow anything that threatens Hapi to keep its blood. She draws the sigil for Bolting. The air heats around her as lightning singes the bird’s wing. It wobbles without stopping.

Constance’s hand throbs where magic has leached from her veins. She can only risk one more bolt; any more would cause her to shrivel. The monster flies to the edge of Constance’s range while she draws another sigil.

Her second bolt strikes the beast’s back just as Miasma surges through its belly. It screams, hovering in place, its great wings flailing.

Caspar appears in the air, a faint glow around him from Linhardt’s Warp. Propelled forward, he punches the bird’s face. Its neck bends as it lets out one final squawk and drops to the ground.

Caspar lands in a concerning pose on its head. Before anyone can reach him, he glows again, this time in a sunset hue that can only be Hapi’s Psychic. Everyone gathers around.

“I told you that would happen,” Linhardt says as he checks Caspar over. “ _I’ll land in a triumphant pose on its back_ , you said…”

“Come on, that was awesome.”

Luna noses Joy. “Are you all right, dear Hapi?” Constance asks.

“You were the one zipping around that thing.” They dismount again. Hapi takes Constance’s numb hands to massage her palms, and Constance lets her. Somehow, they’re victorious. Safe.

The archers lead the group back to the village. More locals usher them into the nearest tavern for free food and board, which Constance accepts with a flurry of self-congratulations.

“I swear it wasn’t my fault,” Hapi says around the bread in her mouth. The townsfolk don’t have a response. They continue to offer her food, and Constance beams. They’ve long since outran rumors of her darling Hapi; now, tales will seed of a mage on horseback, jumping in front of beasts to protect strangers.

Children crowd Caspar for a retelling of his own feat. Surprisingly—rather, unsurprisingly—just as many want to know how Constance summoned lightning on a clear day. 

“Why, a trifle for Constance von Nuvelle. And Luna von Nuvelle, of course.” She makes a flame flicker in her palm, then changes its color for their amusement.

As parlor tricks are all she can offer children, she isn’t disappointed when their parents lead them away. But warmth suffuses her to know that they will have a bed to sleep in and parents to tuck them in, that the village will not resemble its neighboring ruins. Perhaps even folklore won’t remember the name Constance von Nuvelle, but that does not change the day’s events.

The thought has her scraping out her last crust of bed. Hapi leaves with Caspar to help the villagers take apart the monster. With her knowledge, she will ensure most of its parts are used, and the remains buried. As glad to remain inside as Constance, Linhardt swaps notes about the ruins with her. She looks ahead to that project rather than ruminating further.

* * *

When the mountains shield Constance from the sun, she drags Hapi to a hill outside of town, where they can watch magenta suffuse the sky. Hapi lies in the grass while Constance sits with her knees tucked up. Blue peaks rise in the distance, untouchable even now, and the clouds above them look painted. Even the clover blossoms dotting the grass seem too vivid to be real. Her aversion to sunlight does not mean she relished her time underground, and even she must admit that keeping one’s nose in a book can cause other things to slip away.

Remembering the letter, she pulls it out. Ferdinand begins with all the proper pleasantries, followed by news from Enbarr, especially of Edelgard. All of this, Constance skims past, knowing she will reread it thrice later. Then:

_I fear I have made you cross. No matter how our paths may diverge, please know my support and friendship will always be yours._

The last of the day’s adrenaline siphons from Constance. Her hands, drained and grey, struggle to hold the parchment steady. She rests it against her sore knees.

 _Yet, I could not continue as I was_. _While I am aware it is a luxury to choose to spurn Aegir, its chains threatened to squeeze the blood so many prize from me. I would trust few others with this weakness_.

Constance rolls her eyes. The company he keeps has worsened his dramatics. Even as she thinks it, she bends toward the page.

_While I take responsibility for ensuring Aegir is in good hands, those hands must be untouched by lineage, as mine must set to other tasks. If I am with the man I love, there is nothing we cannot build anew. I wish to be a bridge between the joy he inspires in me and the rest of the world. I hope you, too, find fulfillment on your road._

Constance rereads the words. Again, and again, as if it will allow her to traverse that bridge.

“So, has Fancynand put horses in the government yet?”

With a laugh-like cough, Constance turns back to Hapi. Her hair tangles with the grass, and she looks up at Constance with droopy eyes and a small smile, like it’s only natural to share this hillside with Constance von Nuvelle, with _Constance_.

The letter drops to Constance’s side, forgotten. She bolts upright. “Dear Hapi, I would like to be with you.”

“You are with me.”

“Do not pretend you don’t take my meaning.”

Hapi tilts her head. “Yeah, I thought that’s what all the smooching was for?”

Constance twirls her hand, more of a flail than her precise motions when spell casting. “I meant that I would like to continue relations. That is to say…” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “All this traipsing about is more than some whimsical vacation.”

She lowers her tremulous hand, then herself, to lie beside Hapi.

“Let's finish watching the sunset. I shall prepare a proper proposal soon enough,” Constance says.

Hapi’s unflinching face doesn’t suit the burst of bloody sunlight inside Constance. Like it’s still as natural as anything, Hapi threads their fingers together.

“Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

Resting her head against Hapi’s shoulder, Constance lets the moment be.


End file.
